


The Art of Wanting

by Knights_In_Dented_Armor



Series: The Mage Collective [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knights_In_Dented_Armor/pseuds/Knights_In_Dented_Armor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion to "The Brothers Trevelyan" and "Dreads".<br/>The Inquisition needed every ally they could get to defeat the largest threat to Thedas since the Blight. Leliana brought in the one person that she could trust above all else for more delicate assignments. Zevran Arainai had been busy since he left the Warden's company almost ten years ago. He got a second chance at life, and later on another at love. With the growing threat of Corypheus hanging overhead, and everyone preparing for what might possibly be the end of the world, the former Crow plans to go out with less regrets than the last time. Joining the Inquisition, he finally found what he had literally been looking for, but the road to happiness is never easy or smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What goes around comes around.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is meant to be read within the same context as "Dreads" and "The Brothers Trevelyan" and will take place in the Mage Collective AU. I always felt that Bioware should have brought back more of the beloved characters from previous games and I am doing it for them.

“Oh please, you nearly took your eye out twice. I should have let you, then you and Chief here could match and be more disgustingly adorable,” Archer teased, throwing her leather clad legs up on Hawke’s lap. For the past week, Hawke and Archer had taken up the task of teaching Elle how to use a dagger. Elle had been paranoid the Red Templars would drain her magic and she didn’t want to be useless in a fight. Being that she kept knives on her all the time anyways, teaching her more sophisticated ways to use them other than ‘stab the nearest exposed flesh as many times as possible’ seemed like the smart thing to do.

Archer and Hawke could both agree that they were exhausted. It’s not that Elle was a terrible student, she just had a hard time not automatically reverting to her magic during training. Dalish Wildling Mages used their staff not just as a way to channel their magic, but also as an independent weapon. The end of her staff was sharp enough to stab through armor. Still, a well placed hit with a sword or axe and it could render her entire staff useless. 

“Hey, I managed to throw the knife at that one dummy right in the eye,” Elle protested from her place on Iron Bull’s lap, her legs draped across his thighs while her back rested against the wall. The Chargers couldn’t get over seeing their boss no longer hide the fact that he was absolutely crazy about the Dalish Wildling. It was a welcome change, none of them could ever remember seeing their leader so content and happy. It still took some getting used to seeing the Iron Bull casually show affection to one woman. Krem could firmly attest to the fact that he had never seen Bull have a woman on his lap without moving a hand right up their skirt. 

“That’s because you lit the rest of them on fire,” Hawke retorted, reaching over to swipe Varric’s ale. Hawke fit in with the Bull’s Chargers easily, though no one, least of all Varric was surprised. Marian Hawke was notorious for making friends wherever she went, and she became almost instant drinking buddies with Archer. 

“Come on, she managed to master holding a knife and has decent aim,” Iron Bull’s free hand rubbed Elle’s hip affectionately, inducing Sera to cross her eyes and make gagging sounds. “Ugh. It was more fun when you were all moony over her and wouldn’t make a move,” she complained, swinging back in her chair and downing the last of her drink.

Elle reached forward and took the knife out of her boot, twirling it in her hand. It wasn’t as effortless as when Hawke or Archer did it, but she was getting there. “At least I can throw it straight now.” She pointed out, testing her hold on the knife. 

“How in the hell are you able to hold a knife like that, Dreads?” Varric’s brows raised at how the Wildling’s slender double jointed fingers curled around the knife’s grip. “Buttercup does the same thing with her bow. Is crazy bendy fingers an elf thing?”

“Yes,” Elle, Hawke, Iron Bull, and Archer answered in near unison. Most everyone stopped and stared at Archer, whose tattooed tan face darkened a few shades. Hawke’s eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her bangs. “Really now? Care to share how you would know?” The Rogue couldn’t resist teasing her. Archer was known for not partaking in casual flings, much to the disappointment of many, and rarely ever spoke of past dalliances. 

Archer’s face didn’t lessen in color and she swished the liquid in her mug as if it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. “Just cause I don’t have another person in my bed, doesn’t me I’m some damn Chantry sister.” 

Hawke threw her hands in the air in celebration. “We have another pointy ear lover among us! One of us! One of us!” Hawke and Iron Bull, who had not even bothered hiding his bellowing laugh, slapped hands. 

“Welcome to the group. We meet every Friday, I’ll show you the secret handshake,” Hawke was absolutely delighted by this new piece of information. Her relationship with Fenris was no secret, and wasn’t always met with the best reactions. 

“So, Archer,” Iron Bull had the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Archer had given him so much grief over Elle that he took any chance he could to tease her, especially since she had been very caged about her past relationships. “Did the elf’s fingers make you… arch?” 

The only response he got was Archer covering her face with her hand and heaving out a deep, exasperated sigh.

Unfortunately, it was one of the moments that Archer could not live down. Everyone at the table, and later on the rest of the Chargers, spent the next month wiggling their fingers at her. The Former Assassin started making rude hand gestures her go-to response. She had always been intensely silent about her private life, but never hesitated to give her friends a hard time, so it was natural that they took the chance for a little payback.

Though Iron Bull was quite fond of her, he took particular joy in grabbing Elle’s hand and having her make the ‘come hither’ motion. For months, he had to endure Archer’s ribbing and teasing about his turmoil with Elle, and payback was sweeter than the hot cocoa Varric brought for him. 

Archer, despite her embarrassment from her slip, was a good sport about it. Oh, she certainly called everyone every curse the common tongue provided, even making up some rather creative ones in the process. 

“Wrinkled Nug ball licker” and “Bronto Fucker” were often heard shouted throughout Skyhold. 

“Cheer up Archer,” Elle slid a drink over to the pierced beauty. Rocky and Skinner had changed the words to bawdy tavern song about Archer and a mysterious elf lover, and Archer ended up throwing a knife at them.

“You know they do it to get a rise out of you.” Elle had lessened on her teasing a while ago, mainly because she felt that she sufficiently got her back for the teasing she endured after her and Iron Bull had gotten together.

After Krem had sufficiently won her over with his dry with and his nonchalant sense of humor, Archer was the next person that had her lower her guard around humans. Their friendship started out with nothing more than teaching each other tavern songs, and then morphed into a an easy camaraderie. Elle very clearly remembered the glares that Archer would send at Iron Bull when he left the tavern with a different person. She had pretended not to notice the light touches on her shoulder in comfort, or how she would use her own coin to buy her drinks so she could act casual whenever Iron Bull returned from his dalliances. Had it not been for Evelyn and Archer, she didn’t know how she would have gotten through those months.

“I know, I know!” Archer groaned, leaning her forehead against her upturned palm. “And normally I wouldn’t mind it, I definitely deserved some of it. When Dalish and Stitches started getting together, I was having way too much fun with that. And you don’t even know half the shit I gave Bull for how he acted around you. It’s just…” She chewed on her bottom lip, playing with the hoop that rested there. 

“Look, it didn’t end well. I was an idiot, I trusted someone who I shouldn’t have. I was blinded by a handsome face, and left a fool.” All that spilled out of her in a whispered rush, her face darkening with embarrassment, not meeting Elle’s eyes. The pain that tinged her voice stirred something up inside the Dalish Wildling that brought her back to a darker time.

Suddenly, Elle didn’t find all the teasing so funny anymore. Though she personally never experienced heartbreak, she imagined it was close to what she had felt when she realized her growing feelings for Bull and had watched him look at every single other woman other than her.

“Shit. Now I feel like an asshole.” Elle downed the last of her ale, beckoning Cabot to pour her another. 

“Don’t. I was the one who started the betting pool on when Chief would grow a pair remember?” They both exchanged smirks, but Elle made a mental note to tell Iron Bull to cut it out.

“Well,” She grabbed the fresh drinks that Cabot slid toward them and passed one to Archer. “Here’s to drinking away past bullshit and making better choices.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

From that moment on, Elle had started to notice the slight pained looks on Archer’s face whenever someone teased her. Sure, she would still punch them, or occasionally throw a knife at them, but behind that a flash of sadness would slip through her facade when she thought no one was looking. The guilt was starting to weigh in on her.

“So let me get this straight, you want us to lay off Archer?” Iron Bull was laid out on Elle’s bed of furs and hay, watching the naked Dalish Wilding straddling his chest. He had one hand behind his head and the other hand was tracing the long tattoo that covered most of her body.

“Mmmhmm.” Elle leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his chin. “It bothers her, she just won’t tell you guys cause, well, you know her. She’ll start a tavern brawl before she lets anyone see a weakness.” She peppered his chin with a series of kisses, smiling when she felt his other hand on her hip, sliding up her side.

Intimacy had not been an easy thing for her. After she ran away from the Circle, Elle had managed a few partners. It was actually a huntress named Rhoswhyn that helped her heal more than anyone. With Bull though, there was a level of trust she had never known. She trusted him in a fight, and never doubted that he wouldn’t catch her or throw her at the right target. He never told her secrets, even though she knew for a fact quite a few of the Chargers had asked him questions. After that night of their successful dragon hunt, he proved quite a few times that he was willing to completely stop the second she used their safe word. Being with him made her feel more whole than she had for a long time. 

“Eh, I guess I paid her back enough. She was on my case for months about you.” His fingers wove themselves in her thin dreads, playing with the beads and feathers that ornamented that blood red strands for a bit before bringing her lips up to his own. 

“Well, I’m not going to hold that against her. I absolutely blame you for missing out on all those months of fantastic sex and keeping me waiting cause you couldn’t admit that you were completely hot for me.” Elle’s smirk turned into a shriek of laughter as his fingers dug into her side and she was flipped on her back.

Iron Bull grinned down at her, grabbing her wrists and holding them over her head. “It’s always my fault isn’t it? You need to learn to take some responsibility.” He lowered his head and Elle’s giggles soon evolved into breathy sighs of pleasure, losing herself in a place where the world didn’t exist outside of his touch.

After that night, Iron Bull stopped mentioning Archer’s little slip up, and the Chargers and everyone else soon followed (though Sera still liked to use that piece of information when flirting with Archer). Archer went back to being herself, though the occasional knife was still thrown across the bar.


	2. The Spymaster's Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leliana brings in one of her most trusted allies, who is in for quite a surprise.

Leliana held many positions in her life: Orlesian Bard, Chantry sister, Hero of the Fifth Blight, and Left hand of the Divine. Spymaster for the Inquisition was by far the most stressful of all her other titles. She was forever grateful that Evelyn was level headed and understood that the road to justice was rarely paved with purity. The Inquisitor trusted her to not only expand their influence, but to also insure than anyone who tried to get in their way was taken care of as discreetly as possible.

Managing the Inquisition’s growing spy network was a twenty four hour job. Leliana spent more hours in the Rookery or the War room than she did in her own, lovely Orlesian style bedroom that Josephine had decorated for her. She spent hours decoding messages from her correspondents, and sending her beloved and most trusted ravens to find key people.

With all her travels, Leliana had quite a large network of people that were open to her disposal. Her relationship with Ferelden and Orlesian nobility gave her access to a network of connections that was practically unheard of for a Spymaster of any organization. It enabled her to not just have access to the nobles, but also to the servants and craftsmen that were the true eyes and ears of a city.

Her best and most effective connections were her personal ones. People with whom a deep rooted trust allowed both parties to be totally honest with the other. Those connections were only a handful, but they enough. 

For the ongoings of Ferelden, she kept in close contact with Alistair. He had grown to be a powerful and just King, albeit still a little naive on certain matters. They remained close from their days traveling together during the Blight. She considered him part of her family, and always made a point to visit him for at least a month out of the year. He trusted her to keep him informed of any threats she would learn that could put Ferelden at risk, and she trusted him to keep her in the loop of the ongoings in Ferelden nobility. 

The Teyrn of Highever, Fergus Cousland, was another member of the nobility that she kept in close contact with. After the Blight, she had stayed with Fergus in Highever to help rebuild at the request of his brother, who feared that those loyal to Howe would attempt to finish the job. She had grown quite close to her best friend’s brother, helping rebuild not just his home, but also his life after finding out the fate of his wife and child. She often thought back to that time, wondering what her life would have been like had she accepted Fergus’s proposal. It was a difficult decision, but it was for the best. They managed to remain close even when he remarried, and he was her eyes and ears on all things that the King would have no way of knowing. 

Nathaniel Howe was another contact of hers, one that managed to simultaneously make her smile and her heart hurt all at once. The attraction was almost instant from the moment the Hero of Ferelden introduced them, but their lives made it so difficult to have a normal relationship. It didn’t stop them from sending letters back and forth, and for making time to see each other as much as their busy lives allowed. He kept her informed of any non-Warden information he heard from his command in Vigil’s Keep, and she was the first to let him know if there was any action being taken against the Wardens. Their letters always held a tone of deep longing, and her face always lit up to see his raven flying toward her. 

Of course, Aedan Cousland had been her best friend for years now. Until about two years ago, their letters had been as frequent as the letters from Nathaniel. He used to provide her with all sorts of information gained from his travels and his time with Morrigan. She was sick with worry about what had happened to him. Leliana had searched tirelessly for them, but could not find any sign of the entire little family. She consistently sent a raven out to find him, and prayed for a response soon.

And last but not least, was perhaps her best informed contact. The former Antivan Crow and her had struck a friendship from the moment they met. Leliana had always been a big believer in second chances and redemption, and her bard skills and his assassin training gave them quite a lot in common. Zevran’s easy and flirtatious personality was never anything but sincere around her, but it took years before she saw the deeper side of him that very fews others had saw. He was as passionate as he was cunning, and having experienced true friendship for the first time when he joined them in the Fifth Blight, he treasured it dearly. They saw each other quite often in their travels, and he offered Leliana his skills more than a few times during her time as the Left Hand of the Divine. In return, she would find ways to feed false information to the Crows on a regular basis. They were at the point now where they had no idea if Zevran was alive or dead.

It was their ability to meld their friendship and business relationship that had Leliana waiting on top of the mage tower late morning, waiting for the long awaited visit from her old friend.

“Ah, with the sunlight touching your lovely pale skin, you are a vision indeed, mi bella.” 

Leliana, smiled, turning her head ever so slightly. “I assume it could only be made better if I had less clothes hm?” She giggled and turned fully around to see the Antivan elf, beaming at her from his place on the wall ledge. 

“Ha HA you do know my tastes all too well.” He pushed himself off the ledge and met her in a warm embrace. He smelled like leather, Antivan cigars, and a hit of poisonous fumes. It brought her comfort, and made Leliana realize just how much she missed him this past year.

“I should be very angry with you, you know,” Zevran squeezed her tight. “I was beside myself when I heard about the Conclave. Had you not sent a raven, I would have found Aedan and Oghren, and we would unleash a revenge like the world has never seen!” He waved his hand in a dramatic flourish, earning a musical laugh from the deadly Nightingale. 

“That’s why you were the first person I wrote. I feared I would hear of a trail of bodies littering Orlais and Ferelden if I didn’t.”

“This Inquisition of yours proved to do the job for me. I ran into your agents on almost every job I had since the Conclave. And of course, the aftermath when your Inquisitor goes through the area. She left her mark all over Ferelden, and the people sing her praises everywhere I go.” His grin twisted into an coquettish smirk. “I hear she is quite beautiful. And unattached.”

Same old Zevran. “The Commander of the Inquisition forces may object on the ‘unattached’ part.” 

“Ah, beaten again. There go my plans of being known as the Inquisitor's handsome and amorous lover.” Leliana rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder lightly. She was fairly sure that if Cullen witnessed him seducing the Inquisitor, it would end very badly.

“Now tell me, my fair Leliana, what was so urgent that had you summon me here? Usually our coded letters would more than suffice.” His lean body rested against the stone wall. 

She sighed, adjusting the knife in her glove, and preparing herself what would be a long explanation. “I could not risk writing anything on paper, even in our code. We had information about Venatori influence in underworld groups, and I need your help.”

The next hour was spent with Leliana telling him everything she learned about the Venatori infiltrating the Carta, as well as a number of assassins and smugglers guild that were proving to be trouble for her agents. They were able to deal with common folk and nobles without a problem, but when it came to underworld overlords and Pirate kings, that was out of their area and right in Zevran’s circle. 

He didn’t interrupt, listening intently with his handsome features twisted in contemplation. “I see why this would be… sensitive information. It is lucky I give you the family discount on jobs, otherwise I don’t think you could afford me.” 

“So you’ll do it? And of course, Skyhold will serve as a base and we will provide you with whatever you need. I already cleared it with Jose and Evelyn about your stay.” There was something thrilling about being able to do a job with him again. It made her feel younger, like on a fresh adventure.

“Of course. It will be nice to stay in one place for a little while. I am sure I’ll meet just as many exotic women and men here as I would on my travels.” His lecherous grin, always with an undertone of humor, made her laugh.

“Come,” she took his arm and led him down the tower. “Let me show you Skyhold. There are still many repairs to be done, but we have come quite a long way.” 

She took no small pride in showing off the grounds. The stables were as large and as grand as the ones in Halamshiral. Her pure black Imperial Warmblood, Shadow, remembered Zevran and allowed himself to be petting and showered with compliments. He was a temperamental horse you see, and rarely allowed anyone other than his mistress near him. Zevran liked horses, so she took great pride in showing him all the mounts that were stabled in Skyhold.

“Our training yard is right in the center of everything. There’s the Inquisitor right over there,” As they walked over, Leliana pointed to the delicate looking mage noble that sat on the fence in between Dorian and Iron Bull, who were watching Hawke and Archer teach Ellana how best to dual wield daggers. 

Though when she looked over at Zevran, his golden skin had paled and a look of shock and slight fear marred his handsome features. It took a quick assessment to see that he was not looking at the Inquisitor, but had his eyes trained on the Charger’s assassin. 

Her eyes narrowed. “What is it?” 

“You, ah, never told me you were working with the Reavers of Rivain.” Zevran’s eyes never left her, even though their steps slowed.

“We’re not. She’s one of Iron Bull’s Chargers. You know her then?” She had a sinking feeling that she knew just how Zevran knew her. 

“I do. You could say we did not part on the best of terms.” He was very careful to keep his tone neutral and his voice low, though she knew him enough to see his hesitant and careful actions.

Leliana often wondered if the Maker sat laughing on his throne at the situations that he threw at his people. Of course one of Zevran’s countless scorned lovers would end up in the Inquisition.

“What do you want to do?”

Zevran sighed and held his chin high. “I will be here for awhile yet, so I will do what I have done most of my life. Try not to get killed.”

Leliana stopped at the fence perimeter, using her head to signal to the Inquisitor to stay silent when she noticed them. She turned her attention on Zevran, who casually leaned against the fence post.

Hawke was pulling the knives out of the dummy while Archer was going over the best way to disarm an opponent with the daggers. The Champion of Kirkwall was the first to look up and meet Zevran’s eye, a big grin stretching her across her face the moment she got over her surprise.

“Zev! You’re here!” Leliana watched the Charger’s head snap up as Hawke bounded over to Zevran, throwing her arms around him in a hug. Archer’s face mirrored Zevran’s from a moment back: two shades paler and almost ashen in color. Leliana watched as her face went from shock, to hurt, and then to a slow burning anger.

“What in the Maker are you doing here?!” Marian Hawke had thrown her arms around him in greeting, obviously much happier to see him. 

“Well, when I heard that the Inquisition was employing some of the most beautiful women in Thedas, how could I not join in the fun?” His rakish smirk was aimed at Hawke, though his eyes kept sliding over to the Charger.

“Isabella will be so pissed. She kept saying that there aren’t interesting enough people for her to stay at Skyhold all the time.”

“I see there is another of your entourage that is missing. Have you come to your senses and left the handsome brooding elf that protected your ‘honor’?” Leliana kept watch on the Charger as Hawke and Zevran caught up.

She seemed frozen in place, ignoring Ellana’s questions and her eyes never leaving the elf. Leliana was worried she would use the knife in her hand on her friend. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Iron Bull had the same idea about the knife, using his hands to instruct Ellana to take the knife from her.

“Are you here to help the Inquisition?” Hawke asked, all smiles and completely unaware of the building tension.

“But of course! I came to do my part, and to see old friends.” He made a show of looking over Hawke’s shoulder. “Hello there Ayla.”

HIs acknowledgement seemed to shake her out of her stupor, a cold glare taking over her face. She looked down at her hand, confused for a moment as to why there was no longer a knife in it.

Leliana watched everyone exchange confused glances, only deepening when Ayla, called ‘Archer’ by the Chargers, stalked up the handsome elf with determination.

A resounding SLAP echoed through the courtyard, the side of Zevran’s face rapidly turning turning red. 

“I deserved that. Definitely deserved that.” He waved Leliana off, turning to face the angry Rivaini assassin. 

“You arrogant bronto’s ass, you are much dumber than you look to come anywhere near me ever again.” Archer was seething, to the point where she was practically shaking. 

“Dumber than I look? I always found myself too handsome to look dumb.” Leliana was full on expecting him to get another slap for that comment.

Instead, Archer gave him one last hateful look, and then turned and marched up to the Iron Bull.

“If he’s going to be here, I won’t be. I won’t share my air with low life traitors.” Iron Bull said something that Leliana couldn’t hear, though she could take a guess what it was.

“Fine. Then I’ll pack for a nice long mission!” With a cat’s grace, she went off toward the tavern, leaving a bewildered group behind, who all turned their gaze to the handsome elf rubbing his bright red cheek.

“I suppose it’s a good thing that the Dalish darling over there took her knife.” For everyone else, he appeared to be at ease and unaffected by the exchange, but Leliana knew him well enough to know that he was troubled.

Hawke shook her head at him, partially amused and partially curious. “You just make friends everywhere don’t you?”

“What can I say, I am quite popular.” Leliana and Hawke both rolled their eyes.

Zevran rubbed his face again, watching as the exotic Dalish rushed after Ayla toward the tavern. 

“I suppose this will make things a bit more difficult now, no?”


	3. Taking charge of a Charger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull's men mean everything to him. When one of them is hurting, he will always try to help in his own way.

Months ago during his first conversation with Evelyn, Iron Bull told her that he was only good at command when he knew who is guys were sleeping with and what they liked to drink. For the most part, that statement rang true. Once you knew those two things about a person, it was easy to relate to them and find the best way to get through with them. Take Stitches for instance, he favored Brandy, which told the Iron Bull he was patient and thorough. Brandy wasn’t meant to be guzzled like water or ale, it was meant to be savored. Just with that bit of information, he knew the best way to train him in combat was to explain the training before practicing it. When he saw that Stitches make eyes at Dalish, he had placed him in a combat position that would use his natural inclination to protect her to his benefit.

Rocky could gulp down any type of ale like it was water, and even favored using alcohol in his experiments for traps and bombs. His favorite were the country spirits brewed in bathtubs and so strong that if Dalish so much as smelled the liquor she felt lightheaded. Iron Bull used that information to encourage Rocky in his affinity for explosions, the fearless dwarf thriving when the risk of death was imminent. Rocky’s newly developed taste for Human women told Iron Bull all he needed to know about the dwarf’s determination.

As well as he knew his Chargers, Archer was one that he could never fully figure out. Oh sure, he knew her proclivity for wine and that she had no qualms drinking it right from the bottle, but that could only tell him so much. She was loud and brash, with a knack for pilfering shiny little trinkets wherever they went. Her assassin training made her most comfortable to work in the shadows, only being seen when she chose to be. Though she had no trouble tossing a bawdy pick up line now and then, Archer refused to take anyone to bed, or anywhere else for that matter. Not that she couldn’t if she wanted to, the Rivaini Rogue was quite striking her dark features and hourglass figure. She simply chose not to and rebuked all offers in a firm and carefree manner.

Iron Bull hadn’t stayed alive this long by being an unobservant fool, he knew the look of someone carrying a broken heart. It never interfered with their jobs, so he never brought it up, though he had been curious. It took him over a year to learn the story of why she left the Reavers of Rivain, but he knew she had left a lot of parts out.

He had a feeling that the elf that came in with Red was the part she left out.

“You know, when I’m packing for a nice long mission, I find including a change or two of clothes helps with the smell.” Iron Bull leaned against the doorframe of the room that Archer and Skinner shared, watching the Rivaini angrily pack all her knives and poisons into her pack. He had never seen anyone angrily organize their items before, and couldn’t help being amused.

“I’m not staying here. I’ll go with Harding, she’s leaving to scout the Exalted Plains soon.” Her tone just dared him to try and refuse her.

“You wanna tell me why I’m losing my scout for the next month or so?” He walked across the room and made himself comfortable on the couch, his eye scanning her angry and tense stance.

“I will not be in the same area as a traitor. I don’t know why he’s here, and I don’t care, but nothing good will come out of it and I will have no part in it, indirectly or otherwise,” she hissed, strapping another knife onto her thigh. “What Leliana is doing with a disgusting lecher like that I will never understand. And Marian, MARIAN of all people just up and hugs him!” She made a sound of disgust before throwing a knife at the wall in anger.

“This is such bullshit.” She retrieved her knife from the wall, glaring at it as if the knife was responsible for her turmoil.

Iron Bull waited to make sure she was finished. “Archer-”

“It’s not fair!” She interrupted, throwing the same knife at the wall again. “I was doing fine! I had a new life, and you guys are fucking awesome! For the first time in my life everything was going well! Now he’s here and it’s like my escape was for nothing!” Archer was never the type to get hysterical, but this is the closest to it that he had ever seen. He didn’t miss the unshed tears shimmering in her dark eyes either.

“Hey, come on.” He reached over and grabbed the open bottle of wine that was on the table, pouring her a full glass. “Look, you know I don’t bother you about your private life, or anything in the past. For your own sake, might help you to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk!” She grabbed the glass and chugged it all at once. “I want to beat his face until he feels as bad as I feel.” 

Archer moved to sit next to Iron Bull, reaching over and taking the bottle from him so she could drink right out of it. “I told you the basics of everything that lead me to being in Tantervale right?”

Iron Bull remembered it well. He had heard that the Leader of the Reavers of Rivain had been assassinated in his bedchamber, causing a huge rift within its members and weakening it overall. Archer had been blamed for having a part in it, and had been on the run, keeping to herself until the leadership change was more stable.

“The reason they blamed me was because of him.” She couldn’t even reference him without making it sound like the foulest of words. “He swoops in, claiming to want to join a new organization with his troubles with the Antivan Crows. He comes in all dashing and charming, and I like the idiot fell for it.” Archer let out a dry laugh. “He literally charmed the pants off me. That’s how pathetic I was.” 

She took another swig from the bottle. “I was so stupid. I should have recognized a job when I saw one, but no. I was like a simpering lovesick noble, caught up in the fun. I thought him working to win me over was genuine. All he was doing was looking for a way to get into the inner circle and for information.”

For the first time, Iron Bull realized just how much younger Archer really was compared with the way she appeared. She was only a few years older than Elle, but being forced to grow up too quickly, it was often more difficult to realize that.

“When I found out what that Cade was dead, I knew it. I just KNEW it. Zevran had been missing since that night, and I just knew what had happened. I barely got out of there alive.” She slumped back and uncharacteristically leaned her head on his arm. Archer had never been one to seek out physical affection of any type, so he figured she was really feeling vulnerable.

“What do I do now?” Her voice sounded frail and small, and it was so far from what he was used to from her.

“You stick him with a bloody arrow, that’s what!” A voice from across the room startled them both. Iron Bull fought the grin at Sera crawling out from underneath Skinner’s bed, tufts of feathers flying.

“So… you’re probably wonderin’ why I’m in here, under Skinner’s bed, and covered in feathers.” She shook a few feathers out of her hair. “I hid cause I thought you were her and I haven’t finished covering her entire bed in feathers. But you're not her, and well yea.”

Sera bounded over to them, feathers trailing behind her. “It doesn’t matter, cause Zeven or whatever his name is, is a pussbucket shitface and you can’t let him have power over you!”

She nudged Iron Bull to the side and squeezed in between them, putting her arm around Archer. “Who cares if the prick is stayin’ here? We can make it the most memorable stay ever.”


	4. Assumptions and Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set right after Chapter 2 "Unforgivable" in 'The Brothers Trevelyan. 
> 
> As Zevran finds out, the truth does not always set you free.

Neither of the girls heard him or saw him, which of course would make him a very poor assassin if they had noticed him. Zevran was fairly positive that if Ayla had not been drinking, she would have been able to sense him approaching no matter how much he stay stayed in the shadows.

He didn’t set out with the intention of spying on them, really he just wanted to get a chance to speak to Ayla alone. There were many things to discuss, and in truth he never expected to see her again. Despite his best efforts, she had stayed hidden from the world. So many things had been left unsaid, and he was desperate to talk to her again, to make things right. 

“So are you really going with the scouting party tomorrow?” The Dalish Redhead asked, long slender legs dangling off the battlements in a most alluring manner. 

Ayla shrugged, the tattoos on her shoulders reflected the moon’s glow. “Depends on how drunk I get tonight. I hate travelling hungover.” He took in her how the light played off her angular features, her kohl rimmed sharp eyes staring at nothing as she worried the piercing on her lip.

It was more difficult seeing her than he expected. She looked the same yet not. Her hair was longer, that was the most obvious change. She wore it in a braid instead of a bun, which pleased him greatly. The subtle changes were the ones that caused him turmoil. Despite how upset she was, she looked much more content than she had within the Reavers. The high guard that had been ingrained in her as a child had lowered. That much was obvious just how comfortable she was sitting with the Dalish.

“So he’s the one you told me about? The one that brought you to the Chargers?”

“You could say that. It’s been over three years, and I still wasn’t prepared to see him. I don’t know if I want to see him.” Zevran watched her long, inked fingers grip the bottle, her movements already slower from the alcohol. Her long muscular legs rested on the battlements, Zevran remembered every ink design that covered them.

“Three years I’ve been on my own. I was away from the Reavers, and I finally learned how to live. I made friends Elle. Real friends that care about me and aren’t looking to gain anything from me. I don’t think you understand what an absolute marvel that is for me.” He knew that tone of hers, it was a tone he only heard in the bedroom, when it was just the two of them and no other ears would listen in. She had allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, just as she was allowing herself to be vulnerable with the Dalish Wildling. 

“I was doing fine. I finally started a life!” Her temper flared, and he watched her throw the quarter filled bottle of wine off the battlements in anger. “This is fucking bullshit.”

A silence fell over the pair, Ayla’s breathing growing heavier. She brought her knees up, resting her elbows on her knees. 

“Do you still care for him?” The Dalish Wildling handed her the other bottle of wine.

Zevran watched her face, drinking in every detail, every slight twitch of her lips. The desperation for her answer welled up inside him so fiercely he felt like he could not breathe.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to.” She gulped down the new bottle of wine and threw it off the battlements again.

“You know that’s the second bottle you threw that wasn’t completely empty right?” The Dalish redhead’s voice had a soothing lilt to her teasing. 

“Yea well, it’s your fucking fault for not bringing more.” Her voice had an oddly high pitch, the same kind she had when she got particularly emotional and was trying to hide it. 

The Dalish Redhead seemed to understand that as well, for she slid over to Ayla and hesitated for just a moment before she wrapped her arms around the taller woman’s shoulders .

Their voices were too low for him to hear what they were saying, but truth be told he wouldn’t have heard even if he could. Zevran stared awestruck; the Ayla he remembered never let people touch her like that. It took a few months of sleeping with her before she allowed him to touch her quite like that outside of the bedroom. He would watch her with people she had grown up with, where any sign of affection was limited to a light touch on the arm that never lasted more than a second. 

Yet, all these years later he watched her readily accept comfort from another, no hesitation on her part. Her shoulders sagged and he watched her lean her entire body against the embrace of the Dalish woman. Her long thick braid mingled with the vibrant red dreads. This was proof just how much had changed since he last saw her.

There had been so much surrounding their relationship, things Zevran never planned on. He had taken on the job to assassinate the Reaver leader for the large pay and another ally against his never-ending feud with the Antivan Crows. He had planned to infiltrate the Reavers as a potential member, get close with the higher ups enough to let down their guard. The last thing he expected was to enjoy himself in the group. He never in all his life imagined he would find her.

Of course the attraction was instant. He enjoyed her brash sense of humor and her blunt flirting, not to mention she was stunning. Zevran always had a fondness for Rivani women, with their full figures, dark skin, and smattering of tattoos. He would not pretend he was some great romantic Antivan poet that could write pages on a woman’s eyes, but damn him he had finally understood those poets when he met her. Ayla’s eyes haunted him from the moment he saw them: delicate cinnamon with a dark brown around the iris that would glitter in mirth whenever he was around.

After Rena, he had no plans to ever go down the road where emotions were involved ever again, let alone with another assassin. It snuck up on him though, and before he could slow down or stop it from happening, he had fallen so deep he didn’t know what to do. What had started out as a very pleasurable physically intimate relationship moved into unknown territory for him. They would talk about everything. They shared their lives with each other, and it hit Zevran like an arrow in the gut when he realized what happened.

Then reality came upon them. He had been reminded of his job, and had to finish it, if only to keep Ayla safe. It wasn’t supposed to end the way it did. He had planned to do the job he was paid for, and then find Ayla to take her with him. He didn’t get back in time though. His deed was discovered too soon, and due to their relationship, she was hauled away and set to be blamed. His Ayla was resourceful though, and before he found a way to help her escape, she had already disappeared, leaving behind a trail of dead Reavers in her wake. 

He searched for her through his travels, but could never find a trail. Ayla had not wanted to be found, that much was obvious. Yet, here she was, and Zevran couldn’t even look at her without his hands itching to touch her again. He had waited three years though, he could wait a little while longer to get her alone.

As his luck would have it, he didn’t need to wait long. The Dalish Wildling stepped away, promising to come back with more alcohol, and left Ayla alone. It was his chance.

He only hoped he could talk long enough before she would try to throw him off the battlement to join the wine bottles.

“You know,” Zevran stepped out of the shadows, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. “I found that finishing the bottle before I throw it is a bit more satisfying.”

Ayla jumped when he spoke, eyes quickly narrowing in anger. “Are you seriously spying on me?! Fuck you Zevran.” She sat up, folding her knees under her and looking ready to bolt at any moment. 

“You already did, mi amora. Repeatedly. And each time better then the last.” Zevran didn’t want her to bolt, and his guarantee that she would stay is to get her arguing with him.

“You son of a bitch. The only thing I should do repeatedly is stab your fucking throat,” she growled, the alcohol giving her velvety voice a slight slur. Despite that, her rich dark eyes shone with clarity, which he took as a good sign.

“Querida, you can touch me however you like, you know I will enjoy it.” Zevran stopped a few feet away from her, leaning casually on the slab of stone. 

“Don’t call me that, you don’t have the right to call me that!” She jumped to her feet and pushed his shoulders hard, seething in anger. “You fucking bastard. You used me and you left me to take the fall!” Ayla shoved him again, looking almost perplexed that he wasn’t fighting back. She stepped away from him trying, to control herself.

“You made me care for you, made me… made me…” She seemed at a loss for words, shaking from emotion. ”Argh!” Her frustrated scream would have made him chuckle had the situation not been so serious. 

Zevran said nothing, his eyes following the line of her shoulders, imagining the full tattoos that peaked through her low cut tunic. She needed to get her chance to rant and yell at him before he could ever hope to talk to her.

To his surprise, Ayla’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She still had her back to him, and turned her head just the slightest. “Why are you here Zev? Why are you here talking to me? I’m not with the Reavers, I have no position of status within the Inquisition. I don’t have anything that’s any use to you.” Her voice was small and broken, it made his own heart heavy.

“Darling, all I want is for you to listen.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “When I first came to the Reavers I was paid a handsome sum of gold to infiltrate the Reavers and kill your guild leader. The current guild leader was my patron actually.” Ayla let out a scoff. “I don’t find it too surprising either, power hungry men are the most obvious choice. Anyways, the plan was for me to join the guild, and being that the Crows and the Reavers are rivals and I am an obvious outcast of the Crows, it was much easier to bypass all those trials. I would do the required jobs, give away Crow secrets, and be invited in the inner circle. Once I was close enough that my every move wasn’t watched, I would kill him. Simple really.”

He took a step closer, breathing in the familiar spicy resin scent he missed so much. “I planned hundreds of scenarios of how I would do this job. You were never part of that plan Ayla. You were actually quite a surprise.” He heard her breath hitch, and he used every ounce of his willpower to not reach out and touch her.

“You had almost four years to tell me the truth, and you never did. Then you left me to take the fall. How dare you try to tell me I wasn’t part of your scheme?!” Her voice shook, but she still refused to turn around and face him. 

“Querida, did you ever wonder why the job took so long? Why I took almost four years to complete a job that would have normally taken less than half that time?” His eyes roved over the side of her face, taking in every expression that fluttered across it. “I took my time because of you. I wanted to stay with you, I even liked my place in the Reavers.”

He reached out and tentatively pulled her braid from over her shoulder, his fingers running through the thick, woven, velutinous hair. “I would never have left you. You were just too quick for me.”

Zevran took a chance and cautiously moved his hand to her shoulder. When she didn’t react, he gently kneaded the muscle, moving his hand slowly down her arm, until it came to rest around her waist. The whole time he studied her for any sign of objection.

Pushing it a step further, her moved her braid to the side and lightly nuzzled her neck, breathing in the addictive familiar scent. “Ayla,” he breathed, pushing his face into her neck. “I never stopped looking for you. Believe that mi amora.”

Ayla didn’t move, her eyes closed and her breathing heavy like she was in a sort of trance. For a moment, neither of them moved, both taking in the feeling of being so close after all these years.

When Zevran moved his other arm around her waist, it was like the spell broke for Ayla. She violently wrenched herself away from him, reeling around and slapping him hard. “No! No, I will not let you do this to me again!” Her voice was borderline hysterical, eyes wild. “Fuck you, fuck you for coming back!”

Her body shook violently, her emotions overtaking her like an ocean storm. Her clenched fists started beating on his chest, not particularly hard but certainly forceful. “You asshole, you can’t just come into my life and erase everything! I won’t let you, damnit!” Her breath came in hard gasps and he caught the tear streak down her cheek.

Zevran grabbed her wrists, trying to steady her while she cursed him every name she could, sobs hitching in her throat.

He shushed her soothingly, trying to get her to calm down, and at this point working with instinct. He hated that she had so much pain, that his lack of honesty was the cause of that pain.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, bringing her wrists to his chest and tightly folding his arms around her. She fought him, trying to break the hold before she gave up and just slumped in his arms. Ayla buried her face in his neck, shaking in anger and sorrow.

Zevran would swear to any deity that he had no intention of doing anything beyond giving her the comfort and reassurance that she so rightly deserved. Somewhere in between her snarling curses at him and his soothing reassurances, his lips brushed against hers in the lightest of touches, so faint it was a whisper. It was like a dam broke, and their lips slammed together.

His brain was on fire and a hot surge coursed through his entire body. He was addicted; he couldn’t bare not to be with her and could barely breathe when he was around her. Every lost passion, every door he closed on emotions opened with a touch of her lips. The hungry kiss painted images of a future, one he thought about often since he met her. The salty taste of her tears lingered on her lips, and Zevran deepened the kiss. His mind went white, his hands instinctively tracing her spine, and hers wrapped around his neck.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was a bruising, emotional, an outpouring of all the anger and unresolved feelings that built up over the last few years. One hand gripped his shoulder and the other hand grasping the hair on the back of his neck. He swallowed every little gasp that escaped her mouth.

Everything was familiar and new all at once. He nearly slammed her into the stone structure, leaving no space between them and refusing to be away from her. 

“This changes nothing,” Ayla hissed angrily against his lips, pulling away just to get a breath.

Zevran chuckled, a relief flooding him and he felt lighter than he had in a long. “You’re right mi amora, this has not changed between us.” He began to press kisses along her jaw, hands tracing over her curves. “We always fought, you like to fight. This part here, this part has always been just right.” He cupped her cheek and brought her lips to his, thrilled that she didn’t fight him. 

It was a running joke between Aedan, Leliana, and himself that he considered himself a lover and not a fighter. Oh sure, he knew how to fight physically, but he always took the easy road when it came to fighting for personal attachments. He slept with more women than he even remembered, and quite a few men as well, but it had never gone beyond that. He never fought for anything intimate, preferring to just stay around for the loving part. 

His relationship with Ayla was something he was determined to have for himself. It had taken him much longer than it should have to see it, but now that he did and got a taste of life without her, he was determined to never go through that again.

She broke her lips away, and forcibly pushed him off of her. “You come back and I’m what, supposed to forgive and forget everything that happened and jump into bed with you?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.” A slow smirk formed on his lips when he saw the outraged look on her face.

“You egotistical asshole! After all these years you really think a few kisses and sweet words is all it would take to make everything right?!” She was flat out yelling at him at this point, but Zevran felt too sure of himself to yell back.

“I would not be opposed to adding a few more of those to the count if it helps.” He pushed himself off the wall and took a step closer to her. “I found you Ayla. You can ignore me, scream at me, curse at me all you want, it will not change my feelings. Do not think I will give you the chance to disappear again, because this time it will not take me three years to find you again.” 

He took another step closer. “Assassins like us value patience, and I will be here when you realize we are not over. I have every plan to pester, cajole, and constantly remind you of that mi amora. Remember that.”

With that, he turned and left her on the battlements, smirking so wide from the lightness of having touched her again. He didn’t need to look back at her to know she would have a wide look of disbelief gracing her angular features. For once, he knew they had the time to make things be the way they should be, and Zevran planned to have as much fun this time around as he did the first time.


End file.
